Nuts
by Contraltissimo
Summary: Jack spends too much time in one place... and things start to get a little crazy. Rated T if you're British.


**Warning! AWE spoilers ahead!**

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Jack Sparrow has been in Davy Jones' Locker just a _little_ too long. Consequently, things start to get a little... nuts. Writing his character is not exactly my plate of sushi, so many thanks to MartiOwlsten for helping me Jack this up. Horrible pun intended. Please leave a review!

**Rated T** – The following chapter contains language which some British people may find offensive.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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Nuts

So I says to meself _Look_... There's a peanut right there what's got your name on it, mate.

A peanut. Well that's _all_ just fine an' dandy now isn't it. What's a peanut? One nut? How's one nut goin' to help me?

But since there doesn't seem to be any other foodstuffs or edibles round here, I'd better be taking it then, shouldn't I?

Except that I have precisely no need for a peanut. I _do_, however, have precisely _every_ need for an ocean and a lot of wind. That would be unequivocally more... useful.

And some rum while I'm at it.

Do we have any rum? Hallo! Rum!

Nope. Rum's gone. Just... a peanut.

_Lovely_...

Is it just... sitting there. What. Waiting for me? ...Eh?

As if the little thingy _wants_ me to take it.

Now that's not natural. Peanuts don't want things, _I_ want things!

Except I don't want a peanut.

Why not? It's right there in front of you, yours for the taking...

But whatever for? It doesn't really look worth taking. And if it did look worth taking, since it seems even now to be already on board _my_ ship, in _my_ possession, I wouldn't have to bother in the first place to be going and taking it now then, would I?

Because it's already... here. That's interesting. Now what in all anomalous ridiculocity could have eventuated into a peanut on my deck?

...You know I'm not really sure I want to know the answer to that.

But the apparent and unmistakable fact remains that there _is_ a peanut on my ship. And it didn't come from _me_. And correct me if my poor eyes deceive me, but as of late I've been acutely aware of a distinct _lack_ of the presence of anyone other than me humble self here who might have brought said bit of nutriment on board. I also know most _definitively_ that peanuts do _not_ stow away on ships of their own accord.

Because let's face it mate, that would be just ridiculous.

So why is it a peanut on my ship? Why not a dozen kegs of rum, eh? Why do I find myself so incontrovertibly bereft of all things choice and favorable except for... peanuts?

-...

Maybe I should just eat it.

-...

Well I don't care to have it.

-...

But what about 'take what you can, give nothing back', eh?

Well that doesn't apply here at _all_. How about this... _Leave_ what I _don't need_, because I don't want to see it anymore and it shouldn't be here in the first place, _give me_ back all the obscene amounts of time I've spent pondering on the significance of peanuts, rain me an ocean, and get me the bloody plague out of here, savvy?

_Eat the peanut_, mate.

No! Why? Why is there a peanut?

The peanut's there for you to eat it because you _want_ to eat it. You see because if you didn't want to eat it then it wouldn't be here for you to eat in the first place and you wouldn't have to worry about thinking you didn't want to eat it when in all actuality... you really _do_.

I want the peanut?

That you do, mate.

...No I don't.

Yes you do.

No I don't!

Yes you do!

I don't!

I'd wager you _do!_

That's a wager you'd lose. Except that we don't seem to have anything terribly convenient on hand here to wager with, so why don't we do all away and have done with the bets and save you the embarrassment, eh?

I'll wager the peanut.

...Oh. Right then, eh... here's the compass... And... well that's uncommonly gratifying...

What is it?

_My compass_ is decidedly _not_ pointing to the peanut. See? I don't want it.

Well, bloody profanations... I suppose that means I lose the bet... Ah well, at least you won the peanut, eh? It's yours now for sure, mate.

...Bugger.

Eat it.

No.

_Eat it_.

No!

Are you going to eat that, mate?

-...

-...

Look... by some outlandish ability that is obviously far greater than I can fathom, you seem to have managed to miraculously avoid the quintessence of what I have been trying ever so patiently to tell you.

Oh? And what might that be?

I am not going to eat this peanut.

...Oh.

_Savvy? _

Right...

Good.

-...

-...

Can I have it then?

-...

-...

...No.

Please?

I said no and that'll be the end of it, now get back to work.

Come now, just a taste, eh?

If you lay one finger on my victuals here...

I can't help it, mate... I just—need—

Keep your mits off my peanut you crusty botch of nature!

_Give it to me—! _

STOP! Or I'll _shoot!_

-...

-...

...You won't shoot me, mate. I'm _you_.

-...

Now just give me th—

_Bang! _

-...

-...

_Does anybody else want my peanut?? _

-...

-...

That's what I thought.

-...

_My_ peanut.


End file.
